“Ha, you time-serving birds!” he said. “Now you fawn upon me. In Summer’s time, you amused yourselves merrily; in Autumn’s you ate yourselves stout and fat; and, as soon as Spring strikes up, you will dance to his piping like the others. I hate you and your screaming and squalling and the trees you hop about in. You are all here to defy me; and I shall do for you if I can.”
Then he rose in all his strength:
“I have my own birds and now you shall see them.”
He clapped his hands and sang:
Wee snow-birds, white snow-birds,
White snow-birds, wee snow-birds,
Through fields skim along!
To jubilant Spring I grudge music of no birds,
To Summer no song.
Come, Winter’s mute messengers, swift birds and slow birds,